


Working Late

by RandallsRedTie



Category: The Hour
Genre: Angst, F/M, Longing, OCD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 14:21:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandallsRedTie/pseuds/RandallsRedTie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lix is at work late one night, Randall comes in to check on her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Working Late

Lix sits at her desk, takes a long swill from her (third) tumbler of scotch. It’s nearly ten p.m. Everyone else has long since gone home but she had a lead in another time zone calling soon and she doesn’t want to miss the call. If he calls with the news he promised earlier then it could be a huge scoop for her and The Hour. She lights a cigarette and sits at her desk, waits…begins to nod off…  
The sound of knocking on her office door wakes her with a jolt. She obviously hasn’t been out for long because when she wakes the lit cigarette in her hand shifts and burns between her fingers. A stream of curses greets Randall as he pushes her door open and walks into her office. He allows his stony countenance to show his amusement at the blue language.  
“Miss Storm what on earth are you still doing here? Everyone else has gone home. And why are you using language that would make a sailor blush?”  
“I’m still here because I’m waiting for a very important phone call and I’m swearing because you startled me and I burned myself.” Lix answers, peering at him over the top of her cat’s-eye glasses and holding up her hand to show Randall her burned skin. Randall reaches his hand out to hers to inspect the burn but Lix pulls away as if his touch is hotter than the cigarette’s. She’d worked hard at putting up her emotional wall when she’d heard he was coming to work at The Hour, and she’ll be damned if she lets him break it down so soon. Randall lets out a small sigh of what Lix knows to be exasperation. Instead he busies his hands by shuffling the stack of papers perched precariously at the end of her desk.  
“And why are you still here Randall? Did some of the pushpins get out of order? Or did your elephants go galloping to the other side of the desk?”  
Randall ignores her mean-spirited comments but his face allows just a fleeting glimpse of hurt. He begins to fuss with his tie and suit jacket, his hands trembling slightly. Lix instantly feels bad about picking on him about his fidgetting. She knows he can’t help it but she’s tired and slightly drunk and the combination makes her mean.  
“I had some p-paperwork to get caught up on. You should m-make sure to have that burn looked at,” he says quietly as he places the papers in a neat pile. Lix notices straight away the stammer. She knows how hard Randall fights everyday to control it but when he’s flustered it slips out. And it makes her feel even worse to be the one to have caused it. He then moves on to pick up the empty cigarette packets and sweet wrappers and place them in the dustbin. Which he then moves until it’s exactly where he wants it. Lix lights another cigarette and downs the rest of her scotch as he fusses about. Her annoyance with him is growing, coupled with the anxiety of waiting for her phone call.  
“I will when I’m finished with my call. Hopefully my contact has some good news for me. And for God’s sake Randall leave my desk alone!” He does as he’s told, grumbling a bit to himself about “mess” and “chaos” but Lix ignores him.  
“Is there something you wanted Randall?” she asks, no longer masking the annoyance she feels at his presence. Randall’s face turns deadly serious as he opens his mouth to answer her. Just as he begins to speak her phone starts to ring.  
“I...I want to…it can wait…have a good night Miss Storm,” he says quickly before walking out of the room. Lix stares after him as the phone rings incessantly. She’s seen that look on his face a few times before, never before anything good was about to be said. Whatever it was she doesn’t want to hear it. The past is behind her and she has no desire to drudge up it’s contents and she can tell from the way he‘s been acting lately that he does. She stubs out her cigarette angrily as she picks up the phone. Wrong number. And she slams it down so hard on the receiver that it send a jolt of pain through her freshly burned hand. She taps her foot angrily. Then, in order to release her pent-up anger, she reached over and knocks over the neat pile of papers Randall left behind, scattering them all over the dusty tile floor.


End file.
